Sociopath's Revenge (20 page)

I had never been in a cemetery, even when Vasya died, I couldn't go there. Somehow, the idea unsettled me, and I rarely argued with my gut. Besides, what was the point of visiting the dead? Their soulless bodies sure as fuck didn't need the company, and I found all those speeches laughable, the majority of them lies.

Yet when we flew over the Atlantic, all I could think about were my real parents, whom I remembered with only bright memories, and how Connor had sent me the location of their graves. He thought I might want to go.

I didn't realize how much until my feet stepped on Houston ground. The city amazed me with its stylishness and wide-open spaces, which allowed me some degree of elusiveness even though it was a metropolitan area. Plus, it had thriving industry, and based on the reports I'd seen, the majority of the businesses that opened here were successful. Not to mention the delicious cuisine, art exhibitions, and prosperity. It reminded me of Irkutsk with its quiet yet powerful energy. The city offered one strength and courage, but not enough to be overwhelming. As much as I love everything about Russia, Moscow annoyed me with its population, fast-paced life, and constant restlessness.

Finally, I reached their graves; they were buried right next to each other, and their stones were gray granite with the words in Celtic font inscribed on them.

Lila Kristina Harrison

1959-1994

Beloved Wife.

Loving Mother

Jake Eugene Harrison

1956-1991

Beloved Husband

Loving Father

Complicated feelings washed over me, and I couldn't stand the weight of them as I sank to my knees in front of the stones.

Pain, anger, rage, more pain.

Mostly agonizing pain that brought tears to my eyes as blurry images from my childhood played like a little movie in my head.

Singing songs with Mom.

Playing Robin Hood and Thief with Dad.

Trips to the zoo with ice cream and corn on the cob.

Lullabies.

And love. I remembered their loving smiles, touches, kisses, and arms. Remembered the safety associated only with their arms, when the outside world couldn't hurt you, and only happiness existed. I placed my hand on my rapidly beating heart, as I took a deep breath, not allowing myself to cry.

My hands caressed the stones, and I placed a single rose on each of them.

One for me.

One for Damian.

"I'm sorry I didn't make this trip sooner." My voice was hoarse and gruff from the depth of emotions spreading through me. "I thought it didn't matter, but it does. I promise you, everyone will pay for what they have done. I love you, guys." The words tasted strange in my mouth. I hadn't said them in a long time, but they deserved it.

Regret crept in when I thought about how Damian and I could easily have grown up here with loving parents, enjoying being heirs of an empire and actually experience living in Houston. Our childhood would have been filled with love, laughter, freedom, graduations, and weddings.

Life without nightmares.

Life without deaths.

Life without revenge.

Dusting my knees, I stood up, and with one last glance, started to my car. Wondering about what ifs was useless because time couldn't be taken back.

Damian was Sociopath.

I was Pakhan to the Russian mob.

Nothing would ever change it, and somehow guilt slipped into my dark heart because our parents wouldn't have wanted such a life for us.

But it had happened.

And it was time for revenge; this trip fueled the desire for it even more.

The man in the chair cried out in pain as I pressed hot silver on his back, leaving a big round burn mark. The familiar rush of adrenaline spread through me, and my lip curled in satisfaction and disgust.

"Mercy," he whispered with a pain-filled breath and fuck if I didn't miss inflicting pain on all those sick fuckers who deserved it. They were all the same and begged with the same words too.

"Never," I answered, and with my knife, I started to write the names on his back, despite his constant groans and tears.

"What do you want? Money? I have money. Lots of it. Just let me go, and you'll have whatever you want." His talk got on my nerves, so I pressed my gloved fingers on the burns on his back, making them hurt more, and he leaned forward as much as his chain restraints allowed. "Please, stop." The man burst into tears, sobbing like a little bitch. "It's about drugs? Tell Don I'll never take drugs again. I promise." I chuckled as if the thought of him doing drugs would ever be any of my concern.

Alfonso Alamente, the right hand of the Italian mob family, someone Don had enormous trust and respect for. He was the father of three daughters, had been married to his childhood sweetheart for twenty years, and liked to play golf with his friends. He was a traditionalist, who believed in preserving Italian culture even in the States and went to church every Sunday. Nothing short of perfect.

I finished writing on his back and moved in front of him. His bloody, watery eyes studied me, probably searching for any kind of clue. Not that it would help him. I wore a black shirt and jeans along with a black mask. He'd be dead by the end of it, so it didn't matter about my identity and it never did before, but due to my new scars, I took extra precautions. I had my family to think about.

"Who hired you? Tell him, call him, do anything to let him know I'll never do it again." My mouth spread in a sinister smile that didn't reach my eyes; here it happened. He started to crack. The beauty of kidnapped and tortured cowards? In time, they couldn't withstand the pain, so they gave you any information they could think of without you asking for it.

Alfonso Alamente might have been a perfect Italian family man who served the mafia religiously. But even as "perfect" a man as he was, he couldn't stand the allure of power, so he crossed his dear friend and created a side business. Human trafficking of women and children.

I discovered it a few days ago as I collected information on everyone in Don's mob, even though he refused to investigate Alfonso. Of course, I hadn't listened and discovered a lot of interesting stuff, too bad for Don that it was usually the ones we trusted most who betrayed us. "I'll never touch the boys again. I didn't do it often anyway, but the new one was so pretty I couldn't resist. The devil made me do it."

Before the action registered in my mind, my hand grabbed his neck in a tight hold and started to choke the life out of him. His face turned red, and he tried to gasp for breath, but couldn't. The red fog of anger and rage for all the boys he'd hurt blinded me, and only the memory of my own child who I wanted to protect from such people allowed me to let go of him as he desperately inhaled oxygen in his lungs. "It's not about the boys? S isn't angry with me?" I froze on the spot hearing the nickname because it hadn't been something I expected. Alfonso had direct contact with S? "Don finally found out it was me who helped him kidnap Rosa? I just wanted to expand the business; I did it for the mafia."

Fuck.

This sick fuck was responsible for that too? Apparently he'd felt fearless after Sociopath disappeared, created a new trafficking ring along with new business partners.

I slowly walked toward my table filled with knives from different parts of the world. From blades to kitchen knives. Each one of them was beautiful, made out of the finest silver and sharp as a razor. What I loved most about them though was the hurt and anguish they brought to my victims.

I chose number five, a cropped middle-sized knife, and checked with my index finger its serrations on the side. The skin on my finger almost broke from the slight contact, and pleasure enveloped me in its haze. Perfect.

Like I said, cowardly men spilled all their secrets if it helped to save their life, and this man was of no use to me anymore.

For the next hour, my dungeon was filled with cries from the man who got his dick cut off, fingers broken along with his toes, and finally ten stab wounds that killed him.

I picked a few pieces of his body, put them inside the box, and signed the address of his club where the cops would show up in exactly ten hours when they got the lead.

The world had to know.

S had to know.

Sociopath was fucking back, and this time, S wouldn't escape me.

Sapphire

Glancing around Damian's penthouse, I couldn't help but murmur, "Nothing's changed."

He gave me an odd look. "Why would it?"

"Um… because it's been five years?"

He shrugged. "Juanita was the one looking after it, not me. I never came here. Without you, what was the point?" His words warmed my heart as I thought about the few days we'd shared together here.

Initially, my excitement couldn't be contained, considering New York was the city I grew up and spent my whole life in. When Damian's private jet flew above Manhattan, I couldn't help but glue my face to the window and watch with wonder. I thought I'd never see it again.

When we hit the ground, us girls didn't want to go home; instead, we explored the city, much to Damian's dismay, as he was worried for our safety.

We took lots of photos, visited several toy stores, Times Square, the Empire State building, and even made it to the Statue of Liberty. Finally, when Kristina was falling down on her feet, Damian was able to drag us to the apartment where Juanita greeted us with Mexican food and lots of hugs. She couldn't peel her eyes away from Kristina, and I could predict she'd spoil her rotten.

The next morning, Juanita took the girls to her favorite breakfast restaurant, claiming she had to spoil her granddaughters. Somehow, Rosa didn't protest much, even though she screamed left and right she was old enough to have sex.

"Where did you live all this time then?" I asked.

"We constantly changed locations; plus, I was working on bringing down various organizations. Rosa stayed mostly with Luke in Houston."

I nodded, and then noticed the bag beside the door and my brows furrowed. "Where are you going?" His eyes caught mine, and I understood everything at once.

He was going after the main target. But why so soon? Reading my face, he elaborated, "I need to prepare everything in the dungeon, meet with Connor, and lie low for a few days. That's the reason I decided to go now." He caressed my cheek, and I leaned into his touch. "Make it safe for all my girls." Even though I knew that he had to do this, memories of our other goodbye flashed through my eyes when he promised me to take care of the problem, only for my father to shoot him. No matter how much I tried, the tight knot in my chest refused to loosen and trust my man to take care of himself this time.

Damian palmed my face and focused my attention on him. "Nothing is going to happen. I promise." I winced at his words, and he sighed heavily. "Okay, I give you my word that this time everything is going to be different. I'm not working alone anymore, remember?" I wrapped my arms around his neck and breathed him in, calming a bit. I never wanted to lose the comfort of his arms again. With a sigh, I placed my mouth on his, wanting to feel his kiss one more time before he left for God knows how long.

Damian

Kissing her was like a drug. It was addictive and made my head spin, and although I knew it was fucking wrong—I had no time—nothing could have stopped me. I kissed her deep, pushing my tongue between her lips, seeking hers, and once I found it, we kissed long and hard. I wanted to devour her, bruise her mouth, so she would remember me for days. She circled her arms around me again, and I picked her up and put her on the counter.

Thank God, nothing was there; otherwise, it would've crashed to the floor, and that wouldn't make Juanita happy. I stepped between her legs and angled her head a bit to make the kiss deeper. She moaned, and the sound went straight to my cock, hardening it more if it were possible. I pushed my hands under her shirt and lightly ran my fingers over her ribs. I felt her shiver. She moved closer to me, and her pussy pressed against my cock. I couldn't have suppressed the groan, even if I'd tried.